


Out of Style, Out of Sight

by Aespren



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Clothes, Crushes, Fluff, M/M, Shopping, canonverse, chapter 70
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:19:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aespren/pseuds/Aespren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Going to the marketplace with Armin had seemed like a great idea at first. It provided Jean with an opportunity to get away from the children at the orphanage, and away from superiors who couldn't help but give him a new order every time they saw him. But most importantly, it gave Jean an excuse to finally spend some time with Armin, alone. Now if only Armin would get the hint...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Style, Out of Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not I actually started this fic back in February, but only got the inspiration to finish it once the latest chapter came out and we saw Jean and Armin in new clothes.

Agreeing to take Armin to the inner-city marketplace was perhaps the worst decision Jean had ever made.

Now, there was nothing inherently wrong with marketplaces. As a child, he'd been dragged to them quite often with his mother, and while he'd been annoyed that she'd always felt the need to hold his hand and keep him from running off, he did enjoy seeing the merchandise on sale. The food, the toys, the colourful fabrics, the knickknacks; it was a child's dream.

...And also Armin's dream, apparently.

Fabrics, books, food, trash; it didn't matter to him. He wanted to see what every stall had to offer regardless of what they sold, or what ridiculous prices they were trying to pass their junk off for. He would even stop to look at things that pertained no use to him, such as sewing materials, or tobacco mixtures, or  _baby clothes_.

And while Jean wouldn't normally mind - honestly, seeing Armin so excited over everything was more than just a bit heartwarming - they had a job to complete. Historia had assigned them to go pick up an order of rice for the orphanage. It was a one person job, but it was no surprise that she'd told them both to go. They'd been more than a bit useless with helping with the kids.

Jean tried not to take the lack of confidence in him personally; having a break from screaming eight year olds was always nice, regardless of the circumstances, and there was no question in his mind that Armin was the worse offender of the two. Try as he might, he really was horrible with children.

On the plus side, it gave Jean a chance to finally have some time alone with Armin, something he'd been desperately missing ever since they'd rescued Eren and been recruited to help out at the orphanage due to their shortage of staff.

Which led Jean to the real problem... It was kind of hard to spend time with Armin when he  _wouldn't stay in one spot._

He now knew why Eren had wished him good luck when he said they were taking this route.

Jean did his best to look over the heads of the citizens around him for the familiar blond mop of hair. It was the second time he had lost him in the crowded depths of the village, despite telling him to stick to his side. He wondered if Armin knew just how common short blond people were.

 _There he is_.

Jean walked over to where his comrade stood at the front of a clothing stall. It wasn't a particularly nice stall either. Most of the clothes looked older than he did.

"Armin, what are you doing?"

In Armin's hands hung the worst sweater that Jean had ever seen. The sleeves were lop-sided, the neck-hole looked like it had been stretched to fit a titan, and Jean could see a few seams coming loose at the cuffs. None of those were the worst part, though. The true offense came from the material; sheep's wool. Now, sheep wool could make good clothes, but usually one had to tame the wool first through weaving. This sweater looked more like someone had sewn the wool directly onto a normal shirt. The seamster was either a young child, or someone who really sucked at their job. Either that, or a shepherd who wanted to camouflage as part of their herd.

But none of that seemed to matter to Armin, who held it up to his chest to size it to himself. He grabbed one of the sleeves and pulled it outwards to compare the length to his arm. The result was that his arms weren't even long enough to pull it all the way.

There was no way that was ever going to fit him.

"Hey, Armin, you hear me?"

Armin turned and looked up at him, allowing Jean to get a better view. The garment looked more like it was made for someone Erwin Smith's size, and reminded him of the shirt that Reiner used to wear to bed.

Well, the shirt he'd worn to bed for like two weeks, until the boys dorm had decided to hold a muscle flexing competition - a competition which Jean  _may_  have held a part in starting. The result was that Reiner won; no contest. And to make sure that everyone knew he was a winner he'd chosen to sleep shirtless throughout the remaining entirety of training.

"What are you doing? You know we have a time limit, right? Historia will probably make us work late if we don't get back soon."

Armin nodded. "Right, sorry. I'll be quick. I just need to pay for this."

"Wait, pay for  _what_?" He wasn't seriously going to buy that frayed piece of fabric, was he?

"What do you think?" Armin said, holding the shirt up to his chest and showing it off like a brand new suit. "I've needed a new one ever since my other one got ripped in the storage shed last week."

"Okay, but why not buy an  _actual_  new shirt? I can still see traces of the last person who wore this."

"It's new to me though."

Jean raised an eyebrow. By that logic anything was new. He could give Armin a rock he picked up off the ground and call it new. ...And knowing Armin, he would accept it and say thank you too.

So really he shouldn't be surprised at all.

"You do know we have salaries, right? You told me yourself that you didn't have much use for yours. You should get something nice."

"This  _is_  something nice." Armin held up the shirt further, as if smelling it would make Jean change his mind.

"You're going to drown in it," Jean stated. "Look, I'm sure there's a tailor nearby. We could go and get you something that actually fits."

"This fits." He lowered the shirt back down. But taking it further away from him didn't change how large it was.

"No, it really doesn't."

"Well, I like it," Armin said, and turned to the shopkeeper who had been shooting a glare at Jean ever since he started trying to talk his friends out of the purchase. "I'll take this, please."

Jean stood off to the side, watching in disappointment as Armin bought a shirt that his mother would only describe as "fool's bait."

\--

The rest of the walk through the marketplace was turning out to take just as long as the first half. Jean was regretting agreeing to walk this way. They should have taken the side roads, like he had suggested. But  _no_ , he had agreed because Armin wanted to see the shops.

And well, he was no longer that good at saying no to Armin.

However, after the third occasion of Armin wandering off to look at a junk-filled stall, Jean took it upon himself to grab onto Armin by the elbow every time he so much as glanced at a stall.

Which was every stall.

Needless to say, Jean's arm was starting to hurt.

 _Maybe he'd be better off grabbing him by the hand?_  That was what Mikasa had meant when she said he needed to be more direct, right? ...But then Eren had told him to be more subtle. Honestly their pep-talk hadn't been that useful.

And why was he taking love advice from those two, anyway? Who was Mikasa to talk about being direct, or that oblivious bastard to talk about a need for subtlety?

In the end, Jean decided he was best off leaving his arm in its awkward position, but even that didn't stop Armin from swerving on some occasions. Jean couldn't decide if it was cute or annoying.

"If we don't get back soon Historia's going to be angry."

"I know..." Armin said, but it didn't stop his eyes from dancing over every wooden table filled with second-hand knickknacks. "Well, at least I got some new clothes."

Was he still going on about that? Jean looked down at Armin and-

_Was that a smirk?_

The corners of Armin's mouth were turned upwards in the shape of a sly grin. His eyes were dancing along the stalls, as they had been the whole journey, but for a moment they shot back to Jean; looking for some sort of reaction to his comment. When Armin realized Jean was watching, the smirk disappeared into a straight line. But his bottom lip quivered, showing how difficult it was for him to keep them in that shape. There was no doubt in Jean's mind that Armin was getting some sort of enjoyment out of this.

Fine. Two could play at that game.

"Didn't your parents ever tell you to pick clothes that fit? Or at least ones you'll  _grow into_? I know you probably haven't finished growing yet, considering how small you are, but I don't think you should get your hopes up."

Armin pouted.

Now Jean was the one smirking.

"I still don't get why you'd buy that rag. Your parents didn't let you dress like that as a kid, did they?"

"Not when they were around, no. I had mainly new clothes since I was their only child at the time."

It was still odd to Jean how casually Armin could now bring up his parents and grandfather around him. He knew it was because Armin trusted him, but it still didn't seem right. He couldn't imagine Armin talking this way about the attack on Trost district, or about Kenny's squad and how they almost killed him.

"But after they left my grandfather and I couldn't afford new clothes so I wore my dad's."

Jean could only imagine a ten-year-old Armin being drowned in the clothes of his father. Even for his current age the guy was really small; just how tiny must his dad have been for Armin to not fall right through them?

He'd never personally experienced hand-me-downs, at least not in the same way as other kids. It had been just him and his mom most of the time, and he'd never had any siblings, so there really wasn't anyone to get clothes from. The closest he came was when his mom would buy old clothes or fabrics at the market stalls like these so she could sew them into something new. But even then the resulting product was so different that anyone not there to see her process would think she was lying about its source.

As such, Jean had taken it upon himself to make fun of kids whose clothes were too big for them, or had holes.

...And then they'd make fun of him back and say bad things about his father and he'd run home crying.

It wasn't until he was older, and understood how money worked, that his actions, and those of his father, had caused some of the other folks in town to stop going to his mother for clothing adjustments. He didn't know how much business they had lost out on, but he knew now that he had likely made it harder on her.

But it wasn't completely his fault. He was just a kid, after all. Besides, his mother was the one who'd spoiled him. Though if he ever said that to her then she'd scream bloody murder at him.

Thankfully he wasn't like that anymore and had no intention of making fun of Armin.

But he still didn't like that shirt.

"So what did you wear once you evacuated?"

"Eren's clothes, mainly."

"You serious?"

"Well... yeah. I couldn't take anything with me when we evacuated Shiganshina, and they didn't pay us on the farms. They gave us food and shelter, and occasionally clothing, but they were never for anyone specific. Often times there weren't enough for everyone, and even when there were, that didn't stop people from taking as many as they could hold.

"So when we did get something it was usually too big, and Eren would take it, and then I would take it after he outgrew it or got something bigger. If it was a shirt then sometimes Mikasa would share it too."

Mikasa wearing Eren's clothes? It just didn't seem right. She had too much grace to be wearing something that he'd worn. Though, Armin wearing it didn't surprise him much at all.

"It didn't really matter who got what though. The clothes were almost all adult sized and second-hand."

"I don't get it. After all that wouldn't you want something more fitting?"

"Not really. I find bigger clothes comforting. They bring back good memories."

Jean couldn't see how remembering your parents leaving and being forced into servitude on a farm could be comforting, but he didn't argue. If clothes like that made Armin feel better then he almost wanted to let him keep that shirt he bought.  _Almost._

He'd much rather just give Armin some of his own shirts. They'd fit him much better.

_...Come on, Jean, that's not subtle at all._

He felt a tug on his elbow. "Jean, we're here."

Jean looked up. Above him hung the wooden sign for the granary. "Guess you're right."

"Here, I'll go inside and handle business. Just hold this." Armin shoved his bag into Jean's hands and headed inside, leaving Jean to lean against the wooden walls and stare at horse carriages travelling the road in front of him.

He continued waiting.

A group of young girls crept past him, taking extra care to avoid the mud that covered the majority of the road due to last night's rainfall.

Still no Armin.

Jean furrowed his brows. He bet he was looking around at all the different varieties of  _whatever_  it was they sold here. Just how many types of rice were there? ...That was probably what Armin was trying to find out.

Out of boredom, Jean turned the bag upside down and let the garment that had originally offended him fall into his hand. A handful of coins fell to the ground from the bag, causing Jean to sigh as he picked them up and pocketed them. For someone so frugal with money, Armin sure didn't take care of it well. Jean knew for a fact that he owned a coin purse.

With the change now gathered, Jean held the shirt up to himself. He shook his head as he realized it was too big even for him.

Just how angry would Armin be if he 'accidentally' threw it in the mud?

 _He would probably just wash it and get over it._  If he wanted to keep Armin from wearing it he'd have to do something that couldn't be fixed so simply. Like tear it.

But then Armin would just ask him to sew it, and because it was Armin, Jean would be unable to say no.

So if he  _really_ wanted to get rid of it then his best bet would be to throw it onto one of the horse carts in front of him; then even  _he_  wouldn't know how to get it back.

One particularly slow horse was lopping past. He could just waltz up to it and subtly drop it onto the back of the-

"Jean!"

He snapped out of it. His comrade was back.

"I need my bag," Armin demanded, and grabbed his possessions out of Jean's hands.

For a moment, he thought that Armin was going to do exactly what Jean had been dreaming of. But then he remembered not everyone got fashion-focused fantasies like he did.

But no, instead he dug his arm into the bag and felt around in a frantic motion. Was he searching for tears or something?

"Jean..." Armin stopped searching and looked up at Jean. His brows narrowed and his bottom lip disappeared into his mouth.

Had Jean been voicing his thoughts out loud? It's not like he was actually going to go through with any of it.

"Yeah?"

"I messed up."

"What do you mean you messed up?"

"I think I forgot the money Historia gave us back at the orphanage."

_Wait..._

"And I don't have enough money on me to pay for the food."

_Oh._

"And I know you have money..."

Jean smirked. "So you need me to save your ass?"

"Well,  _our_  asses actually. I don't think Historia will care which one of us messed up."

That was true.

But there was no way he was letting Armin get off the hook that easy. They were already late and like hell he was going to take the blame without getting something in return.

"Fine, I'll pay, but on one condition."

Armin didn't respond, but continued to look right at him with slightly wider eyes and a heightened eyebrow.

"One, you will let me take you to an actual tailor and get you a nice pair of clothes.  _I'm_  picking them out."

"But-"

"No."

Armin frowned, but that wasn't enough to make Jean change his demands.

" _And_  you will never wear this shirt. Ever."

Armin pouted. Now that was just unfair.

" _Fine._  You can wear it, but never when you're out with me in public."

"That's more than one condition."

"Too bad, take it or leave it."

A pause.

"What counts as public?"

"Any place outside the barracks where other people are present."

"So you're saying I can sleep in it and that's it."

"Yeah, basically."

Armin continued to stare at him with the same pout and Jean didn't know just how long he'd be able to hold out. Not just because of Armin, either. If he didn't pay for this food they were screwed, so he was going to pay either way. He just hoped Armin didn't know that.

Which was asking for a lot.

"I have one condition of my own," Armin bargained.

Please don't let it be about the shirt. "And that is?"

"I'm paying for my own clothes."

 _Well, it was meant to be a treat... but whatever._  He knew Armin wasn't fond of expensive gifts, or receiving any sort of unwarranted generosity, really.

"And you're getting an outfit too.  _My_ choice."

Oh boy.

Wait. "What happened to one condition?"

"I'm copying your way of counting."

Jean's mouth hung open. Armin's sense of humour wasn't  _as_  dead as he thought, apparently.

Still, did he really want to go through with this? Armin's sense of fashion was perhaps the only quality that Jean didn't admire in him, and subjecting himself to it sounded more like a form of torture than a good time. But if it meant he got to pick out new clothes for Armin... Just agreeing to the deal didn't mean he had to wear what Armin picked out, right? The same could be said for him, though Jean knew that whatever he picked out would be too perfect to not wear.

"Fine." Jean offered out his hand.

Armin took the extended hand and shook. "It's a deal."

Jean handed over his own coin pouch and then waited outside once more, holding Armin's bag, despite Armin's offer to come in.

Sticking his hand inside his pocket, he pulled together the loose change and dropped it back in the package with Armin's clothes. If he questioned it later, Jean would just say it got caught up in the giant mess of fabric.

\--

When Armin had said he was going to pick out an outfit for him, he had thought he had meant something unique,  _for him_.

He didn't think Armin was going to give him the freaking sweater.

Jean looked into the the small wooden-framed mirror located in the male barracks washing area and realized the shirt was even worse than he had ever thought possible. He had only been wearing it for fifteen minutes but already he had picked up more dirt than any cleaning cloth. For once, he was grateful that Levi was so tough on them to keep the place spotless.

And he wasn't the only one who saw just how horrendous it was. As soon as he walked through the door Connie and Sasha had burst into laughter.

_"Hey Jean, what are you wearing? You look like you just mugged a shepherd and stole his stock of wool."_

_"Connie, that's rude! He might be a sheep-shifter!"_

_"Shut up! It's comfortable!"_

Even  _Historia_  had snickered.

He had then rushed to the bathing quarters so he could see first-hand just how it looked.

They were right. He did look like he was wearing a sheep.

But damn it... Armin was also right. It really was the most comfortable thing he had ever worn.

**Author's Note:**

> As anyone familiar to reading my stories may know, I always like to throw in references to older one-shots. It's not usually something I try to do, it just happens. But this time the only references I managed to make were to two fics that I haven't even posted. So hopefully I'll end up finishing at least one of them someday, otherwise this fic will be the odd one out!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and any feedback is greatly appreciated!


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